


Mortuary Science

by LeeIsDead



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mortician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2671898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeIsDead/pseuds/LeeIsDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank's mom dies and he just wants to shut himself away and mourn by himself, until a friend convinces him that the mortician he met at the funeral may have some good advice after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mortuary Science

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. This isn't very good, and I wanted to include some more stuff, but I edited out for different reasons, but just give it a chance, and feedback is appreciated.

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?  
~Edgar Allan Poe

My mom is drowning.

She’s drowning and all I can do is look on along with the black clad spectators. 

Well, I suppose “drowning” isn’t the right word. You can’t exactly drown when your lungs collapsed. She lay there, concealer and mascara and whatever else was used to cover up the still evident death dripping down her face.

No, not drowning, she was soaking, molding, rotting. 

I looked on, watching the water fill up the casket. Vaguely wondering if my mother would start floating.

The people, family members, I suppose, were all new to myself, and, as of now, they didn't seem very saddened by her death. They were just grumbling on about the weather. It did seem rather cliche that it would rain at a funeral. Forecasts didn't predict precipitation, but you just can’t foretell some things. 

I didn't foretell coming home to police surrounding my house, waiting to tell me my mother’s lungs had spontaneously collapsed. I didn’t foretell having to be shipped off to the hospital to have doctors use words I didn't fully grasp to describe my mother’s death. I didn't foretell the last time I’d see my mother would be with complete and utter strangers.

It continued like this, bible verses being spoken enthusiastically by a man who didn't even know my mom. Family members griping about the rain. Me feeling helpless. 

It went on. It ended. She was lowered into the ground. She wanted to be cremated. This was all wrong.

All of the supposed family members filed away, never to be seen again. I stood there, watching as dirt was shoveled atop my mother’s eternal chamber. She once told me her biggest fear was being buried alive, she didn’t mention being buried dead.

I decided I’d just sit, so I did, I sat and watched. I wanted to cry. I didn’t, be strong for mom.

I was so focused on not crying that didn’t notice the crunch of dead grass, the approaching man. He walked around me, stopping, and kneeling. 

He was downed in a suit, black, of course. Black shoulder length hair. Hazel eyes. A jacket. Multiple scarves.

“Was the funeral not to your liking?” I looked away from him and back towards my mother’s grave.

I answered without looking back at the man, who may or may not be an obscure relative, “She wasn’t supposed to be buried.” My voice emotionless.

“Beg pardon?”

“Cremation. She wanted,” I paused, choking on my suddenly rising emotions, “to be cremated, she hated dirt.” I laughed emotionlessly, “And now she’s encased in it.”

The man’s nose scrunched up slightly, “Uh huh, and what exactly were you to Linda?”

“Her son.” 

He said, “Oh, well, it was your grandmother who put together funeral details with me.” Alluding to his involvement in funeral planning. 

“I didn’t even know I had a living grandmother,” I was still watching the dirt fall into the hole. “She hated dirt.” I reiterated in a whisper. 

“Well,” The strange man proclaimed, “Seems my work is not yet finished.”

I finally looked towards him, “Work?”

“Yes, you see, I am a mortician.” I didn’t see what that had to do with me, “Part of my job is helping family grieve through proper burial, or cremation,” He rose his eyebrows dramatically, “And, considering you have not gotten the peace you deserve, I need to find a way to help you get through this.”

“I’m pretty positive you don’t have to do that,” I slumped forward, “Just let me grieve by myself.” 

“‘Fraid I can’t do that.”

“Well, What’re you gonna do,” I stood up too, the moisture of the grass was beginning to seep through my only good dress pants, “Dig her up and burn her?”

“Well,” He glanced at my mother’s grave, “Of course not, but there are other ways of getting through this.” 

“I’ll just get a therapist, or whatever.” I lied, turning away, I needed to be at my dad’s. He didn’t show up to the funeral. Surprise, surprise.

…

I awkwardly grasped the straps of my bookbag as dad drove me off to school. When I’d come home, he seemed genuinely remorseful about missing the funeral. Apparently, Leah had an emergency, or something of the like.

Dad was rather obedient towards his current girlfriend, Leah could snap her fingers and he’d give her the world. Unfortunately for me, she wasn’t my biggest fan. I suppose it made sense, prior to my mother’s death, my father had nothing to do with me or my life, and suddenly i’m an everyday responsibility.

“So, uh,” My dad coughed, “Leah and I were thinking about having a kid” By Leah and I he means just Leah. “How’d you feel about that, son?”

“I don’t see why my opinion matters,” I picked at the sleeves of my hoodie, “I’ll be out of the house by the time that happens.”

My dad opened his mouth, before closing it and shrugging, bringing the car to a stop. 

“Well, uh, have a good day at school.”

… 

Ray said, “I think you should’ve just let the guy comfort you, coulda done good.”

I poked at the slop on my tray with the feeble plastic fork. I couldn’t decide if it was a vegetable stew or some sort of meat loaf. Whatever it was, it reeked of gravy. Ray, and everyone else for that matter, didn’t seem to have any problem with the cafeteria cuisine. All shoving spoonful after spoonful down their throats. 

“He wasn’t offering to comfort me, it’s part of his job.” I informed, pushing away the cheap paper tray, “Morticians are like, part therapist or something like that, I guess.”

“Even better, free therapy, am I right?”

“I don’t need therapy, everyone goes through death at some point, it’s inevitable”

Ray paused and considered. “I haven’t,” I arched an eyebrow, “Not yet anyway, but that’s not the point.” Ray was making animated hand gestures. “You’re, like, eighteen, the only death you’re supposed to go through is the death of a dog, or something, not your mom. Therapy might be the best way to go.” I played with my fingers, feeling rather uncomfortable. “Frank, that doesn't mean you’re crazy, it just mean that you went through something you need help understanding.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’d go to some random mortician dude.”

“Who better to explain death than a man who sees it everyday?”

He had a point, I hate it when Ray has a point.

…

I wasn’t sure how the morgue worked, all I knew is that Belleville only had one, so the man at the funeral had to be associated with it in some way. Unless he pretended to be a mortician for whatever reason.

It wasn’t creepy, I mean, it was rather close to the cemetery, of course, but I only recently began to associate bad memories with grave sites. I walked in. It smelled nice. I wasn’t expecting that.

There was one long desk stretched across the wall. On one end of the desk was a door marked “restroom” on the other end a door marked, “personnel only”. It didn’t take much to figure out which one would contain the dead. 

A lady with comically large glasses sat behind the desk. It reminded me vaguely of a small doctor’s office. I approached the lady carefully, not sure how to find the man I was looking for without having to be surrounded by dead bodies.

She looked up at me, eyes magnified, “You have a relative here sweetie?” 

“Uhm, actually, I’m kinda looking for someone.” She tilted her head slightly, “Someone that’s, uh, alive.”

“Oh, someone who works here, dear? Are they handling a funeral for you and your family.”

“Well, not really, they did, it was held just yesterday.”

She nodded, chewing on the end of a pen, “Do you know their name.” 

I never asked his name. “No, ma’am.”

“Who was the funeral held for?” 

“Linda Iero.”

“Uh huh, hold on.” She turned to the monster of a computer sitting on the desk, tapping the keys with painted nails. “Seems like a Mr. Gerard Way handled that one. He’s actually meeting with a family at this moment, but I can tell him you stopped by if you leave me a name and number.”

This was a sign that Ray was wrong, I didn’t need this. “Uh, no, don’t worry about it, thank you.”

I turned and left the suspiciously sweet smelling morgue. I made my way to the car that my dad had surprisingly given up to me for the afternoon. 

I patted my pockets for the keys, surprised to find they weren't there. I glanced put my hands over my eyes to glance through the tinted windows of the Camaro. The keys were there, dangling from the ignition behind the locked door. 

Of course, now I’m stranded at a morgue. This was a terrible idea to begin with.

I let out an exaggerated sigh. Pushing myself up to sit on the hood of the car.

I pushed my head into my calloused hands. Dad was going to be less than thrilled.

“Are you lost?” I knew that voice, it was creepy graveyard guy, or, Gerard, apparently. I glanced up at him, recognition coming across his face. “Oh, you’re the Iero kid, yes?”

“Yeah, I uh, had some questions, but you weren’t here…” I trailed of

“Ask away.”

“Uhm, actually I decided against it.” he furrowed his eyebrows. “‘cause I thought it was a sign that this was, a, uh, bad idea.” I shrugged, face red. He seemed amused. “It gets worse.” I groaned.

“What?”

“I’m only here right now because I locked myself out of my car.”

He chuckled lightly. “Well, I’m here now.” He looked at me expectantly. “Your questions?”

“Oh, right, I thought maybe if you, like, described the burial process, or whatever it’s called, then maybe I’d be at peace, or whatever you called it, that way I know my mom was well taken care of, or whatever the term is.” I laughed awkwardly. I said whatever too much. 

He seemed to take it into consideration, “Okay, well, I really don’t think telling you what was done to your mom’s dead body is going to be beneficial at all. Not that it’s that bad, just that it’s rather, unsettling.” I sighed, of course the only question I have is the wrong one. 

I blurted, “Well, why do you work with dead people?” May as well give him something to talk about. “I mean, there’s gotta be a reason, right?”

“My Nona died when I was a teenager, I fell into a slump. I guess I just never wanted anyone else to go through that.”

“Then why not just be a therapist, or something?”

“Well, there’s something different here, they entrust me with the caretaking of a lost loved one, it’s a more special connection.”

I leaned forward, interested, “Do you think it’s important, burial?”

“It depends on-” There was a loud beeping, he pulled out a sleek, silver phone, glancing at it before sighing. “I have an important meeting with a family, but I want to help you and answer your questions” He paused as I wiggled my way off of the car hood. “I can meet you somewhere? The library, perhaps?” 

“Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Okay, library at five. Is that acceptable?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “Yeah.”

“Bye then-” He paused before asking, “What was your name?”

“Frank.”

“Oh, well bye.” He began walking away, before turning back for a moment, “Oh, and Frank,”

“Uh, what?”

“The passenger door is unlocked.” He continued to the car I hadn’t even noticed was there. I glanced behind me to find the lock to the passenger door was, in fact, up. Great.

… 

The entire morning was an endless series of tragedies, I woke up fifteen minutes late, missed the bus that I was now riding due to my father’s sudden rant on gas prices, got stuck eating oatmeal, which I’ve expressed my hate for multiple times, ended up giving up on the whole school thing, and just stayed at home to cry profusely over everything. I’m so dramatic. I’m getting rather tired of feeling like my life is a bad sitcom. 

No one was going to be home until after I got home from school anyway, so I figured they’d never know. 

I just lay there staring up at the glow in the dark stars I’d stuck to the ceiling when I was five and I came to my Dad’s for spring break, a tradition that ended by the time I was seven. My father had always been a vague figure in my life, all I could remember from before now are blurry scenes at the park, where I’d run around and he’d observe from a park bench.

The only memory I could recall clearly was the last time I’d ever seen my dad. He drove me to the church my mom attended every Sunday right before mass was over, sitting me on the steps and telling me, “Son, I can’t see you anymore.” I remember not really understanding, but now I know that he’d met a girl and didn’t want his old family getting in the way of his opportunity of a new, hopefully better one. 

I remember my mom coming out of the church to find me crying, she knew what had happened, dad had called her. She had scooped me up into a warm hug, stroking my back, her hugs were always so warm, I wish I’d never grown out of hugging her. She calmed me down, whispering, “All I need is you, and all you need is me. We’re strong, Frankie.” She was right, I didn’t need anyone else. Then she took me out for ice cream. She did that alot. Even when I got into highschool we’d get ice cream to celebrate everything, regardless if it was something as unimportant as getting a C on a math test, or as momentous as getting honor roll.

I found myself smiling and crying, sitting up, wrapping my arms around myself and rocking back and forth.

I didn’t care how immature it sounded, I wanted my mom.

… 

I climbed the steps leading up to the entrance, out of all of the buildings in this town, the library was probably one of the nicest. 

I opened the door nervously, hoping my endless crying that had only stopped less than an hour ago wasn’t evident. I walked slowly trying to scope out Gerard. The library was two stories, but I was positive he’d stay on the first for the sake of convenience.

I turned to find Gerard himself standing behind me, I jumped.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you, would you like to take a seat?”

We sat at one of the tables pushed against the far wall, surrounded by people reading and homeless folks shuffling around looking at the literature.

“Are you feeling alright?” Gerard questioned from across the table.

“Why do you do that?” I’d been thinking about it for a while. “You talk like you belong in the nineteenth century, or something.”

“Yeah, I suppose I-”

“See!” I pointed at him, “No one says things like ‘suppose’ outloud.”

“Sorry, I meant to say, I guess I’m just used to talking to clients and for some reason they trust me more if I hold myself up like I’m a literary professor.” 

“That makes sense.”

“Frank, have you been crying?”

I self consciously wiped at my eyes, “Just ruff day, you know?”

“What happened?”

“I miss my mom, just stupid stuff we did. You probably hear that alot. I’ll get over it, though.”

“You’re very strong, Frank.” I looked up. “When my Nona died I lost my mind, I wish I had been as level headed as you.”

I blinked.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. You?”

“Ah, I’m 25, but that’s beside the topic. What, in particular, is bothering you-”

“Actually I wanted to ask you something,” He nodded, “Do you believe in God?”

“Do you?”

“Nope.”

“I do”

“What do you do when someone with a different religious idea comes to you.”

“I respect it.”

“Do you think my mom went to Heaven?”

“Why would it matter if you don’t believe in it.”

“Just answer me.”

“That’s a question for yourself, Frank, there’d have to be a Heaven for your mom to go to.”

I nodded, “Yeah, I just don’t want to have to think she’s just gone I guess.” I slumped down in my seat, “It’s like, I don’t think God is real, but I want him to be because my mom deserved Heaven if anyone ever did. I probably make no sense.”

“It make perfect sense actually, you just want your mother to be happy in the afterlife.”

“Exactly. She went to church, and I know that’s not, like, the only requirement, but she was a great person, I’d want there to be a Hell for me to go to if there was just a Heaven for my mom.”

“I know, Frank.” 

“And it’s so fucking stupid, pardon my language, but I still can't get over the fact that I let them bury her. She did so much for me, and I just wanted to-” I slammed my face onto the table, “I can’t even gather my thoughts together to tell you.”

“I’m so sorry her wishes were not fulfilled, Frank, but I can’t do anythi-”

“I understand that, it’s just-” I fisted at my hair picking my head up from the table. 

“I know, I know. The will of the dead is usually more important to the living than the deceased themselves.”

“Yeah,” I looked up at him, “Do you think funerals are more for the living than the dead?”

“Absolutely,” Gerard nodded vigorously, “Everything on this Earth is for the living. Memorials, funerals, everything is just a way to keep us sane.”

I nodded, not knowing what else to say. Everything He’d said made so much sense to me, it made it all so much clearer, it still hurt but I felt better. 

“Yeah, I-”Gerard’s phone rang, which, from past experience, meant that he had to go attend to some business. 

He looked up at me hopefully, “Tomorrow?”

… 

I’d been meeting Gerard every Monday and Thursday at the library for roughly a month.

“I’m telling you,” I told Ray around the bite of sandwich I’d been smart enough to bring from home, “He’s like, really smart.”

“Dude, I get it, your mortician therapist-slash-boyfriend is great.” He rolled his eyes dramatically “Just fucking propose already.”

I arched an eyebrow, “What the hell, dude.”

“Oh come on, it’s painfully obvious you have a thing for Mr.Oh-so-deep-and-philosophical.” 

“You ass, he’s helping me through something, you recommended this.” 

Ray huffed, “I know, but I thought he was and old dude, not a twenty-something.” He looked up from his cafeteria bought soup, which looked just a suspicious as everything else this school sold. “And you’ve been over your mom for a while, at least, you’ve seemed pretty happy to me.” He slurped up some soup, “But maybe that’s just a side effect of your new crush.”

I didn’t have a crush on Gerard. I’m not twelve. He was just really smart, and he made sense to me, and was nice, and liked to meet at the library, and was willing to listen to my problems. 

I groaned, “Oh god,” Ray glanced up knowingly, “You’re right.”

“I’m telling you dude, I’m a fucking psychic.”

… 

“Are you feeling fine?” Gerard scrunched his eyebrows together.

I nodded, wishing Ray hadn’t brought anything up so I could still be blissfully ignorant. 

“Okay, good, I have a surprise.” I perked up slightly.

“No, Gerard, no way.”

“Shut up,” He was digging through his ever present bookbag. Taking out a small, sealed, metal capsule and handing it carefully across the the table. 

I held it up to my face. It was rectangular and very tiny, feeling as if it was filled with shredded paper. 

“What’s this.”

“Your mom’s ashes, Frank. Well, some of them, the rest were sprinkled across her gravesite.”

I looked up at Gerard, wide eyed. “H-how?”

“I pulled a few strings, I do work at the morgue, it helps.”

“This is, I mean, isn’t that grave robbery?”

“Kind of,” He looked down at his lap, “If it bothers you I’ll turn myself in, I just-”

I leapt across the table, careful to keep the ashes out to the side, and brought him into a hug.

“Oh my God, this is so fucking amazing, you fucking broke the law for me and, I don’t even-” I released and sat in my seat, “You’re amazing.”

“I just wanted you to feel better.” He smiled, “It meant alot to you.” 

I laid the box down on the table with care, before looking back at Gerard. I needed to tell him, he could lose his job, he broke the law, I should tell him.

“Hey Gerard, am I, well, I’ve been over my mom for a little while. Well, not fully, but to the point that I need to be.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I know.”

“So, why did you keep inviting me back to the library.”

He sighed, “It was inappropriate, I know, but I’d never met someone so easy to talk to, and willing to listen to my ramblings.”

“I don’t think you ramble, everything you say is so smart, and well thought out.”

“I just like you.” He looked down.

“I like you too.”

We sat in silence, before I finally got the nerve to speak up again, “I really hope that we’re on the same page right now.” I whispered before leaning across the narrow table grabbing his face and placing a hesitant kiss on his thin lips. 

His mouth upturned as he kissed lightly back, before pulling away.

“Yeah, we’re on the same page.”

“Thank God.” I sighed, slumping back into my seat.

“Well,” He grinned, “Now, that that has finally been admitted, I believe you were conducting a rather deep speech on why mourners are more pitiable than the dead.”

“Right,” I leant forward on my palms, “I mean, the dead move on, but we’re the ones who are left behind to deal with their departure.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really just me thinking about death disguised as a story. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed it's mediocrity. Feedback please, I've been working on this for weeks.
> 
> xxLee


End file.
